This Man Has Been Squished
by Camel in the Arctic
Summary: This is just a bit of fun, but I might continue it...Vimes is investigating a very icky accident...with Miss Tinkle! The Seamstress!
1. The day is bad

**Disclaimer – **It has been proven...thanks to extensive DNA research, very complicated tests and some uncomfortable and unwanted probing it has been deduced that I am _not_ in any way related to the brilliant Terry Pratchett...shame. Therefore very little of this belongs to me. Only the title, this over-long disclaimer and the A/N happens to be mine.

**A/N – **Hi again, it's been a long time but I'm back (for a while at least) with this, enjoy. Hi, D.H.R. – Pansy is back!

**This Man Has Been...Squished...**

Commander Samuel Vimes, Ankh-Morpork City Watch was giving chase.

He had been doing so for half an hour.

He was not amused.

Whoever – or whatever – Sam was chasing was quickly getting away, the gap between the two was getting bigger and bigger as the Commander covered less and less ground and his chase more and more.

They had already been up and down Short Street, (ironically the longest street in Ankh-Morpork) they had destroyed a street of grocery stalls, and avoided a long costume rack exiting the theatre, somewhere behind him, though it was possible he had fainted, should have been Sergeant Fred Colon – but when Sam had last looked back the poor man, who was now almost as wide as he was tall, had been red as a tomato and making a noise that could have easily been mistaken for a steam train.

Now the sprinting criminal – more of a speck in the distance than a criminal – was haring across the Brass Bridge, whatever it was it was shrieking with mad laughter as it bounded across the deserted bridge pushing dwarves, humans and trolls alike out of its way.

Vimes reached his side of the bridge and stopped, his chase was already on the opposite bank and down some dark back alley...Vimes wheezed. He wheezed for some time.

The he reached inside his breastplate and pulled out his silver cigarette case and lit up a cigar, he cupped his hands around the flame and took a long, blissful drag; he'd pay for this in the morning, Carrot was sure to give him some long talk about the pursuit of criminals and Fred would moan at him for a report – that was if Vimes could find his Sergeant and take him home – the commander grunted to himself, finished his cigar and flicked it into the River Ankh before turning round to go and write another blasted report.

The cigar slowly rolled across the river's surface...

Vimes reached the Yard and sighed, he had a pile of paperwork waiting for him when he got back to his office; his out-tray was something of a myth nowadays, the in one never seemed to empty...He pushed open the door and walked out of the rain that was just beginning to sift down from the night sky, he removed his cloak and reluctantly went upstairs to his office to plough through the mountain of work that would undoubtedly have appeared on his desk. He would leave before it got too late, Sybil – his wife - hated it when he stayed at the Yard overnight...

Vimes unstuck one eye and groaned; he had fallen asleep at his desk again, Sybil was going to feed him to the dragons... He lifted his head slowly, bringing an array of paper up attached to his face. He unstuck the other eye, groaned again and peeled the paper off his scraggy face. He stood up, stretched and yawned, the morning light oozed through his small window like pale honey, he looked down at his desk and moaned, the pile seemed to be bigger, not smaller, someone had been in and put some more unfinished reports there. Sam slumped down into his chair and lit a cigar...then his door exploded.

Not literarily, it was just opened with so much force that it was torn off its hinges and was thrown to the floor; in the ruined entrance a terrifying apparition appeared, male or female? Vimes couldn't tell, but whatever it was it was snorting like some wild beast, its piggy eyes darting around the small office and – the commander noted – it had no neck whatsoever.

It spotted him and strode over in two steps; Vimes shrank back in his chair but was lifted up by the collar with ease.

"You Commander Vimes?" it grunted, Vimes nodded helplessly, his bleary eyes trying to find a way out.

"You come to Dumpling Street, make it quick!" the...thing...demanded and dropped the shocked Vimes, "Don't be late!" it added dangerously and strode back out of the office.

Vimes stood up dumbfounded and stared at the retreating back that filled the corridor, he thought he should say something about now...he gulped and screamed out at the retreating back, "You _broke_ my bloody door!"

Half an hour later Vimes was in Dumpling Street. He was looking at a body sprawled in the middle of the road.

It was definitely dead.

Nothing could look like that and still be alive.

"Dis man is dead," noted Sergeant Detritus at Vimes' side,

"I think so too, Sergeant – make notes...and then go and find someone with a spade, this will take some time to clear up."

_Dink_, "Yes, sir," said the troll saluting before going to prod the body in the road.

Vimes looked at the mushy pulp that might have been a man a while ago that was lying in the middle of his street, he groaned and pulled out a cigar.

"What happened to him, Vimes?" asked the...person who had attacked Vimes' office door,

"Well...if I'm right I would say he was...squished..." Vimes replied awkwardly.

"Squished, Vimes?"

Vimes nodded, "Squished..."

The person eyed him dangerously for some time and then gave up, "very well Vimes," it held out a hand larger than Vimes' head, "I'm Miss Tinkle – of the Guild of Seamstresses,"

Vimes stared. This monstrosity was a _woman_? And not only that but she was part of the Guild of Seamstresses! What kind of a man would employ _her_?‡

"Vimes?"

"Er...er...er..." was all Vimes could manage,

"Are you all right, man?"

"...Yes...after several whiskeys, I think..."

Miss Tinkle laughed, "I'm so sorry about your door, Commander, I was in a hurry and things like that get in my way when I'm in a hurry – if you know what I mean?"

Vimes spluttered.

"And I'm sorry if I hurt you, I am known to be a bit rough,"

Vimes spluttered some more.

"If you want – I can give you a...private demonstration..."

What little colour was left in Vimes' face left very, very quickly – he also spluttered so much he almost choked. His eyes were darting round the street for a way out.

"I'm very popular, you know?"

Vimes backed away, "Sergeant? Have you found something...anything..._now_!"

"Yes, sir, I have been detectoring and I have found a Clue," Detritus grinned proudly, Vimes sighed thankfully, "What is it, Sergeant?"

"A footprint, sir?"

"A footprint? Where? We're on dry cobbles,"  
"Dis is definitely a footprint, sir, look," Detritus, pointed at the body, Vimes looked and said a bad word.

Stamped into where Vimes supposed the man's chest had been was a very large footprint...

Wherever, whenever in _any_ police chase there are always grocery stalls to be spoiled and costume racks to be avoided. It always happens, _always_. Why? Nobody knows...

‡ The Guild of Seamstresses for those who don't know is one of Ankh-Morpork's more...naughty...places. A group of adventurous young women started it up...oh...and three needles...


	2. The day is only getting worse

**A/N: **Sorry these chapters are so short...

**This Man Has Been...Squished...**

_A footstep!_

Miss Tinkle fainted with a theatrical sigh and toppled over backwards, there was a thud. Vimes muttered something under his breath and looked back at the body, "What would you say has happened to this man, Detritus?" he asked his sergeant.

"Dis man has most defin'tly been squished, sir," the troll answered loyally,

Sam hmm-ed and looked back at the gargantuan seamstress, "Sergeant, go and find someone with a spade, while I try to resuscitate our friend,"

Detritus nodded and ambled off, Vimes walked over to the fallen giant and tugged at an arm to move her under some shade...purple spots clouded Vimes' eyes and a vein in his forehead looked about ready to explode...Vimes shrank back, "Sergeant, new plan," he called to the troll, "I'll go and find someone with a spade – you can move this...woman..."

_Dink_.

Vimes passed the troll, "Good luck," he grinned, the commander continued up the street, a cart passed him with a very smelly old man at the reins, he nodded to Vimes and Vimes nodded to him and then went on his way. A little way ahead Vimes found a dwarf, in one hand he had an axe – the other he held a shovel.

"Sir," Vimes said as he walked up to the dwarf, "The Watch is in need of your scooping implement,"

"Sod off," the dwarf snapped.

Vimes squinted dangerously and clonked the dwarf on the head with the pommel of his sword – he was getting too old for that kind of rubbish, "Thank-you for your cooperation, sir," he growled and stalked off with the shovel under one arm. With the other he pulled out a cigar and walked back to the pile of human-mush.

He heard a very unwelcome _squelch_...

Vimes looked up from his smoke – the cart with the smelly man had just passed Detritus and the comatose seamstress...

The commander ran up and swore loudly, his squished victim had a nice long cartwheel track running though him alongside the footprint.

"_Bugger_!" Vimes covered his eyes with a shaking hand – today was not a good day. He sank down next to the desecrated man and took a long drag.

"Commander! Commander Vimes! Today is your lucky day!"

Silent tears ran down Vimes' face as C.M.O.T Dibbler walked over to him – not noticing the pile of human slushy on the cobbles, "Throat! Stop! _Now_!" The commander cried leaping up.

Dibbler kept coming.

There was another squelch...

"Urrgh! What the bloody hell is this sh-?"

He stopped as Detritus lifted him up by his head, "You sir, you is standing on Evidence and-"

"Detritus?"

"- Clues, dis is an-"

"Detritus!?"

"Offence-"

"_Detritus_!?"

_Dink_, "Yes sir?"

"_Get your foot out of the poor man_!"

Detritus looked down and sheepishly removed his foot from the 'evidence', "Err..."

Vimes got up and walked away muttering to himself, he turned sharply, "You're in charge Sergeant, clean this up and then bring Miss Tinkle to see me, thank you – good bye,"

Vimes was halfway back to the Yard when he heard it, manic laughter – the same from the night before...there was something fishy going on...


End file.
